Highlander The Series - Celebrity Immortal
by MattHunX
Summary: Macleod and Co. travel to Athens for a literal gathering of immortals at the Acropolis. Watchers are nervous. Tensions are high as they anticipate the attendance of an immortal who vanished for half a century. One-shot.


**Highlander - The Series**

 _Celebrity Immortal_

 **Author's note** : Macleod and Co. travel to Athens for a literal gathering of immortal at the Acropolis. Watchers are nervous. Tensions are high as they anticipate the attendance of an immortal who vanished for half a century. One-shot.

Location: Athens, Greece

Date: 21 March 1996

Time: 11:21 AM

A black sedan was rolling down the street, its driver staying well below the speed limit, though not for any safety reasons. All of its passengers were gripped by a feeling of apprehension and foreboding, gazing up at the amorphic clouds that seemed as though they were fleeing the very place they were heading towards. Along the hill and high on top, the famous stone structures were still standing after two millennia, with people conversing at their base, some of who were just as old and some who were even present when they were built.

"The Acropolis. Looks ominous. And a litt'l pretentious, especially given the occasion." said a voice, with British accent, belonging to a lean man with short black hair, who was sitting on the right side of the backseat, as he looked out the window. The others in the car gave him a pointed look, including the driver and he did not even take any offense as he innocently shrugged, looking at them. " _What?_ I'm not even being hypocritical." he shrugged, raisin his hands in front of him, then he let them drop. "Maybe a bit." he added.

"A bit?" The driver, a more muscular, pony-tailed man with dark hair and a deeper voice, asked.

"Well, I don't have a statue up the'e." Was the best the other man could come back at him with.

"Not for a lack of trying, I'm sure." A short-haired woman, sitting on the left side in the back, teased him and the man was about to reply.

"Guys!" A much younger man, between them, spoke up to stop them "So, what's the big deal about this thing, anyway? I mean, I get it, you don't do reunions, but this is literally like ' _The Gathering'_ , right?" he asked them.

"It's not meant to be literal, Richie. Not like this." The driver answered, also having a slight accent to his voice.

"Yeah, I know, Mac. But, I mean, it's not like it's a bad thing. We can, you know, check out the competition." he reasoned, taking the situation more lightly than any of his companions, probably because of his youth he did not fully understand the gravity of it.

"And maybe some of the competition will check _you_ out? Hmm?" the woman teased him.

"Not just for my head, I hope." Richie muttered.

"But, it's such a _pretty_ head." The woman ruffled his slightly curly hair. "And if you get _lucky_ , there are worse ways to die, then after..." she started to say, suggestively and Richie had a mortified look.

"Amanda!" Macleod exclaimed as he drove the car.

"Wouldn't be such a bad exit." The lean man on the left mused and Amanda gave him a pitying smile, conveying that _his end_ would not be as sweet.

"About that. Aren't you kinda hoping to see someone from...you know, the class of 3000 B.C. or something?" Richie asked the man next to him.

"I'd be surprised if I would." He replied, with a short laugh.

"I wonder what would happen if I'd drop the name _Methos_ in that crowd." Amanda plotted, looking at the man, only somewhat mischievously as all of them would have been curious to see the reactions he would get.

"Get outta Dodge." Richie said as he looked from her to Methos.

"I have a get-away driveh'." he said, looking at Macleod, hopeful about his chances of escaping.

"No. You have a get-away _cah._ " Macleod clarified, smugly, not wanting to get dragged into anything and the other two in the back gave Methos the best sympathetic look either of them could muster.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time I had to run from a beheading." he shrugged, folding his arms and laughingly added "And it's not like I have that much to offeh' them, really. They'd be just as disappointed as Joe and Richie, here, was." he said, looking at him, while remembering how they met.

"Maybe you should start with that." the latter suggested.

Macleod looked at the man sitting in the passenger seat, next to him, who have not said anything since they left their hotel. He occasionally scratched an itch and ran his hand over his greying, round beard and his heavy eyes barely shifted from staring ahead of them. A great deal of nervousness was apparent in them, which was understandable, given his line of work and the situation they were all heading into. For the uninitiated it looked like a large gathering of powerful and influential people, who could rent out the entire historical site, much to the displeasure of tourists.

"It's holy ground. Got that going for me." Methos added as Macleod finally caught the man's eye, who raised his head a bit and his brows even less, prompting him to ask whatever he wanted.

"Everything alright, Joe?" he asked.

"You've been awfully quiet." Amanda pressed.

"Yeah." He turned from them to look ahead, again, with a slight wince. "I just didn't think they'd ever actually do something like this. None of us did." he answered with a gruff voice.

"So…the Watchers are, like, swarmin' the place?" Richie wondered.

"With hundreds of immortals in one place? Whaddayou think? I can't even say it's the biggest meeting in history. Because there wasn't anything like this. Ever." He sounded agitated. "Everyone, whose assignment came, is here." He referred to his colleagues, who were positioned all throughout the surrounding area, with only some of them being able to linger close enough to observe their respective targets, without rousing their suspicion.

"We're waiting foh' someone in particuleh', actually." Methos said.

"Who's that?" Richie asked.

"Well, the guy fell of the organization's radah' a couple of decades ago, after the great wah'." Methos explained as they stopped at the foot of the hill.

"World War II?" Richie asked, more impressed than incredulous. "Who is he?" Richie asked.

"There are two things about him that...give him a bit of fame and set him apart from, well, from all the ones old Duncan, here, beheaded." Methos prefaced his answer.

"Hey! What are we? Chopped liver?" Richie moaned, on behalf of Amanda and perhaps Methos, himself. Macleod turned to extend a hand to him.

"Duncan Macleod." he introduced himself, jokingly and Richie made a face, giving him a wry smile and the latter then turned to Amanda.

"Hey, I never really asked. How many heads you had, 'Manda?" Richie was curious. Innocent and slightly nervous.

"A lady never tells." she answered, with a delicate shake of her head and matching tone.

" _Lady?_ " Macloed looked around, pretending he could not see a lady, anywhere and felt a push as Amanda kicked his seat from behind.

"So?" Macleod prompted Methos, turning towards the back, again.

"The fi'st is _the name_ he was given at his bi'th, circa 780 B.C., in what became the Roman Empiyah'." He dragged it out with a dramatic pause, glancing at them.

"Well, don't give us in suspense." Macleod told him, one hand resting on the steering wheel, while he had the other one pressed against his own seat.

"You want a drumroll?" Richie gestured, holding up his hands to Methos, who had his mouth open, but was holding back, for effect, before finally spilling the name.

"Romulus." There was a longer moment of silence as Macleod, Amanda recognized the historic name and Richie was not completely in the dark as he scrounged up his face, trying to remember history class.

"You mean those babies with the wolf?" Was all he could recall. "Romulus and uh..."

"Remus. His twin brothah'. Part of the foundation myth for the Roman Empiyah'. Admittedly, not as interesting as the history books and _mythos_ says." He smiled at the play on his own name with the word. "Well, unless we consideh' the immoh'tal element _mundane_ , now." he added. "No demi-gods or suckling a wolf in the forest. Where they even came up with all of that, I have no idea." He mused.

"What's the official Watcher version?" Richie asked, looking at Methos and the back of Joe's head.

"In a nutshell, the twins we'e separated when they we'e young. Romulus was kidnapped by a group of raide'hz and he grew up with them, while Remus grew up under mo'e... _affluent_ circumstances. Both brothe'hz learned ways of fighting and we'e quite the accomplished warriors by thei'h early twenties, when the raide'hz attacked the city Remus lived in. The brothe'hz barely recognized each otheh' in the fray. They we'e both killed as thei'h sides crashed, but not befo'e they both decimated the otheh' side. They resurrected right in the middle of the battle field. You can imagine how well that went oveh' with the people around them. According to watch'ehz at the time, it was quite a show-stoppeh'. Neitheh' of them had any idea what was going on. They we'e attacked by both sides. The two went into a frenzy, but befor'e they could kill everyone, Remus was oveh'whelmed by a group of soldie'hz screaming all kinds of otherworldly madness, and he was decapitated by one of them." Methos paused, as they all knew what had to have happened after that. "The quickening killed a numbeh' of them. The rest fled, but none of them made it out alive. Romulus reined in a horse and cut them all down as he ci'cled the field, going aft'eh the straggl'ehz and he did so while he still had to have been feeling weak from the Quickening, as we do. The Watch'ehz at the time didn't know, but since Darius, the'e's been saying it might've been a Light Quickening." He looked at Duncan, meaningfully. "Not a complete one, at that. I mean, the guy still kills without so much as betting an eye if he wants to, according to witnesses. In fact, his last reco'ds place him in the European Theateh' of Operations, fighting with the British. He was a snipeh'. Killed several hundred Nazis, by our count, but only a fraction of those kills were reported by him and made it into the official historical record."

"Woah." Richie whispered, being the most impressed of them all.

"Tip of the iceberg." Joe muttered and Richie's eyes grew wider as Duncan appeared to be wondering what kind of a person this immortal was. They have all killed their fair share.

"Which brings us to point two, in our trivia." Methos continued and everyone looked at him expectantly, except Joe. "His immortal head-count." he said, after a brief pause.

"Oh, let me guess! Staggering!" Amanda rolled her eyes and held up her hands, gesticulating dramatically, as she was certain of the answer and that it would not impress her, one bit, or she would not let it show.

Methos had a slight glint in his eyes, as he was about to prove all her presuppositions wrong, maybe even shock and impress her, but at the very least surprise her and everyone else.

"Zero." he stated without any smugness and the others stared at him.

"What?" Amanda could not believe what she heard and she blinked in confusion.

"Afteh' the Quickening from his brotheh', the'e are no reco'ds of him taking a head." Methos explained.

"He never ran into any of the others?" Richie asked, finally founding an element in the story, about which even he, as a young immortal, could be incredulous of.

"No way!" Amanda said, firmly, as it was highly unlikely he could avoid any encounters for over two thousand years.

"Neveh' said he didn't." Methos replied. "He had. A numbeh' of times, actually. Afteh' a while, he got into the habit of leading his challenge'ehz into places the Watch'ehz couldn't follow. A little suspicious, if I might add." He clarified and commented.

"You think he knows about Watchers?" Richie asked.

"Not unlikely." Methos answered, looking at Duncan.

"So how do you know what happened, when they fought?" Amanda wanted to know.

"We don't. All we know is, they had a good old fashioned swo'd-fight and both of them walked away. The Watch'ehz couldn't tell which one spared the other or why. If the fights even went that fah'."

"So…is he a good guy or a bad guy?" Richie had to ask and Methos thought for a moment.

"He's…kind of an anti-hero. It's the easiest way to describe him, really." he answered.

"What's his name?" Macleod asked.

"At present, he goes by _Crescense Lazarro._ " Methos said the name slowly. "Middle name is _Ignatius_. He put an extra 'e' at the end of his first name, probably on a whim. And he probably uses _'Lazarro'_ ironically." he commented.

"Whaddayou mean?" Richie narrowed his brows in confusion.

"It comes from the name Lazarus or _'El'azar_ , in Hebrew, meaning _'my God has helped'_. From what we know of him, he's really not the religious sort. If anything he's an atheist. It's likely just an allusion to him being able to revive. A walking Lazarus-syndrome, as we all are." Methos explained.

"Okay. So, he's a big-shot. Don't you guys have more immortals, like him, who disappeared?" Richie asked.

"Immoh'tals disappearing generally don't warrant anything mo'e than a sea'ch, tracing thei'h steps back to when they we'e last scene. But these days, some in the oh'ganization apparently see it as an offense and a sign of incompetence, on our path, if it happens." Methos said, slightly frustrated. "They can't stomach losing track of even one of us. They're scared, if you ask me." he added in a tired voice.

"Oh, like _you_ can complain! You got the easiest job." Joe turned his head just enough for Methos to see his eyes and teeth as he sneered at him.

"Found yourself, yet?" Macleod chipped in, making fun of how Methos had been deceiving the Watchers since he joined their organization and took the task of finding an alleged myth, the oldest of immortals. Himself.

"Jealousy is not a good col'eh on eith'eh of you." Methos answered, smugly. "And speaking of assignments, do you know how many agents they had to reassign afteh' you dealt with the peh'son they we'e watching?" he leaned over the gearshift, in between Macleod and Joe. The former pondered it for a second, only showing the mildest of concern.

"Well, they still have a job. It's not like they were fired." Macleod shrugged it off.

"That can't even happen, can it? I mean, when someone joins, they're in it for life, right?" Richie asked Joe, then turned to Methos, before getting confirmation. "Hey, that's right! How long d'you think you're gonna pull it off? They're gonna figure it out, when you still look the same after, what, twenty years. You can't even, like, fake your death. 'Cause the others would be on your case." Richie started describing a future scene. "They'd wanna know what happened and you'd just come back to life, before they'd finish drawing a line around you. Ha, I'd pay to see that!" He pointed at Methos with a laugh, imagining his predicament.

"Well, I _could_ fake my death, so they _wouldn't find_ my body. It wouldn't be the fi'hst time for that, eitheh'. But, I actually haven't met most of the oh'ganization. I only know a handful of them peh'sonally. Of cou'se, they'd could still be a problem. Maybe I could make it look like I was getting close to finding _myself_ and it got me killed." Methos brought up his index-finger, as he had his small eureka moment. "The'e you go!"

"You said they were scared, because they couldn't follow one of us." Richie wanted to understand the Watchers point of view. "What about _this_ thing?" he nodded at the scene in front of them, at the many immortals occupying the historical sight.

"Oh, it scares them just as much." There was mild amusement in Methos' voice as he readily answered.

"But why? They really think the people they can't follow are hatching some evil plan? Or building an army or some super-weapon, with all the stuff they learned? That's ridiculous." Richie only somewhat exaggerated the Watchers' fears.

"In theih' defense, _attempts_ at world domination were rather common in history. Whether it was for more land for cattle to graze on, spread _'love thy neighbor'_ with swords, or to bring glory to kings and queens, or to march under the swastika or the hammer and sickle, the plan was always _global_ , even if a lot of them didn't know _it was a globe_." Methos added the last part, jokingly.

"Hmpf." Amanda made a sound. "I bet that would've annoyed them. No endless lands and endless riches, as promised by whatever. Greedy men." Amanda commented, with a flip of her hand and caught Macleod's face in the mirror. "Shut up!" she shushed him, before he could call her a hypocrite, in a dig at her own past, distant and recent.

 _"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, My Lord!"_ Methos began, affecting a stronger accent. _"I'm afraid youh' empiyah' cannot be infinite. Apparently the wo'ld actually has an end and it's not fouh' corn'ehz, eitheh'."_

"That could be a comedy sketch. With the people in costumes." Richie suggested, laughingly.

 _"What do you mean it goes around? And it winds back on itself!?"_ Methos continued, acting baffled. _"Why aren't we under the soil, then? What heretical nonsense! Off with your head!"_ He stopped the act. "Partly why I never became an advisor, or anything of the sort, to any ruler." he added.

"How about a jester?" Amanda sniped at him.

"Well, try not to burst, but I've actually _been_ a court jester, once." Methos replied and Amanda could only stare at him, laughing only with her eyes. "Had a few good gigs and a very bad one that was the end of that career."

"You said something they didn't like on purpose or did you slip up?" Amanda had to wonder.

"Are you saying I can't be subtle?" Methos pretended to be offended and Amanda gave him a look, with a small tip of her head that said she was rhetorically asking him what he thought she meant. "Well, in that one case, I miscalculated how drunk the audience was. That is to say, they weren't." Methos frowned. "Not enough to be receptive to _parody_ , as I quickly found out."

"When are they ever?" Macleod's remark was obvious, in his question.

"Indeed. The nobility, in general, rarely has a wide sense of humeh', never mind royalty." Methos said, as he took a walkie-talkie off his belt and turned it on. They immediately heard chatter, as several watchers were in mid-conversation. Their words were cutting in and out, due to interference.

"...it keeps blowing my 'air in my face. - 'ad enou- o- this bloody wind!" A woman, with a British accent was cursing the weather.

"Get a hairnet, Liz!" A male voice chimed in, trying to be witty.

"Sod off, Richard! You're still in the hotel!" The woman snapped back.

"No swearing, please! Mercy!" A female voice, with a French accent, replied.

"Oh, is this French-eska? Well, why don't you file a complaint, luv?" The other woman retorted.

"Ladies, please! We don't know when we'll be able to get a drink, 'ere. Keep a lid on that pot, yeah?" A different male voice came on.

"Agreed, mon ami. No need for two lovely belle's to brawl. Whaddaya'll say we check in? See who's aroun', eh?" A male Southerner suggested and they heard several more people confirm their presence.

"Hello!" Methos chirped into the radio.

"'Ello?" The woman not necessarily named Franceska, responded.

"Give me _that_!" Joe turned in his seat as best he could and took the radio from Methos, who relinquished it without a fight, only to spare him the effort.

"Yeah. Sorry! Joe Dawson. Here, with uh…Adam Pierson." Joe replied, remembering to use Methos' alias.

"Dawson and Pierson. Now, where have ah' heard those names? That's right, that mess in France!" The voice recalled.

"Have to say, I haven't heard a Cajun in years." Methos said.

"Smarmy, sly, slithery...ugh." Amanda made a face, rolling her eyes. "The swamp suits them." she muttered.

"Had a few Southern callers, huh?" Richie tried not to grin.

"Them and Italian men are the worst!" Amanda looked out the window as the voice came back on.

"Hey Dawson, are you here with your _friend_ Macleod?" A man asked him, with obvious disdain. Most of his colleagues disapproved of his closeness with the very immortal he was assigned to observe. Joe exchanged a look with Mac and was about to make a simple retort by confirming Macleod's presence and asking if they had a problem with it, when a female voice spoke.

"Hey, shut up, Bill! If it wasn't for Macleod, the whole organization would still be in shambles! So, zip it!" Joe's mouth was slightly ajar and Macleod's face stretched as they raised their brows at each other, in amusement.

"Oh, you have a fan!" Methos exclaimed.

"So, you guys got fliers, too?" Richie turned to Methos, referring to the rather conventional method of invitation through which the immortals who organized the event had reached out to others.

"We saw the ad in the papers. And in case we missed _that_ , it was on the radio, as well." Methos said.

"And on television. But, they were on _very_ late." Amanda commented and earned a few cautious glances, but as a grown woman, she was in no way obligated to explain what she was watching so late at night.

"It was just asking immortals to show up. What the heck?" Richie looked around.

"Well, if you hadn't met Macleod and didn't already know about immortals, would you have given it much thought?" Methos asked and Richie saw his point.

"No." He answered.

"To the uninitiated it was no different than an invite from some poets and write'ehz and eccentrics to join theih' club. A few hundred people, including Watch'ehz, understood the message. But, I agree. It was still quite brazen." Methos made the comparison.

"It's just funny that you guys got it in the mail." Richie told him.

"What's funny? The Headquarters has a _mailbox_. It's not like the organization is some grand hermitage." Methos did not see why young Richie found it so amusing that their main office received junk mail, like anyone else. And the individual agents found it amongst their regular mail, from where most of them learned of the event, before they even set foot outside their residence.

"Your guy. How're you going to pick him out of the crowd? _If_ he even shows?" Amanda asked both Methos and Joe.

"Well, apa't from the flagged passport they think is his, we've got a couple of old photos from his last watcher and also from war correspondents." Methos replied. "He even shows up on a few candid images of occupying fo'ces. Sitting with the sold'ehz. Preparing for the next operation or just retuh'ning from one. Tried as he might have to avoid them, one can underestimate the tenacity of correspondents and jouh'nalists or professional photograph'ehz. Or paparazzi." he added the last group, somewhat derisively. He was _immortalized_ at one point or anotheh'. Unavoidable, I'm afraid." he mused. Macleod silently nodded, gazing into the distance. He remembered the aged woman, by whose deathbed he stood and who almost convinced herself she was losing her mind for believing he was the same person she met, a life-time ago, until he told her the truth.

"That's not much. Sometimes a guy grows a beard or long hair and you can't even recognize them." Richie commented as Methos presented him with a stack of old photos, of which the ones indexed as having been taken by the watcher, were from a surprisingly short distance.

"Mmh. Handsome." Amanda leaned in, looking at the man's image. The dark hair on his head was cut short, as per the standard. Thin lips lightly smiled on a young, smooth face. On another, his narrowed eyes were focused on something to the side. Head lowered. Crooked nose. Narrow jawline. Strong, yet narrow chin. Slightly feminine, in his features. "Put a wig and make-up on him and he could pass as a woman." Amanda giggled, then saw an image of him, half-naked, cleaning a sniper rifle. "Oh, well, at least, his face. Mm. He's got big _rifle_ , there." She raised a brow, mischievously glancing up at Macleod, who turned in his seat with a slightly nervous look that was shared by Richie, less so by Methos and Joe rolled his eyes with a quiet sigh. She smiled, innocently.

"The guy watchin' him got pretty close. Maybe he saw him and figured out he was being followed. And he's been hiding since then." Richie said, looking at Methos.

"Were not that sloppy!" Joe found it unlikely.

"Could've been a rookie mistake." Methos thought. "Except, I don't think they would assign new agents to immoh'tals like this guy, particulah'ly in the middle of a wah'. Maybe he lea'ned how to avoid them. Would've had to pick up their M.O. quickly, though."

"Maybe he's a quick learner." Amanda told him, with the hint of a smile, contesting his and Joe's doubts of the man. "'You've' been living under their noses for years. Mac and Joe met, after he ran down the guy, who was tailing him. I heard about the woman who helped some brat take a few heads and let's not even mention the guys who were trying to kill us all. Your little club isn't perfect or infallible." She vented what frustration she had with them.

"Neither are immortals." Macleod said.

"You're defending them?" Amanda raised her voice.

"Of course I'm not defending them!" Macleod quickly answered, before Amanda's short fuse burned any further. "I'm just saying no one's perfect. Not even this guy. Maybe he did something wrong. And he's been on the run. And this is coming from _me_." Macleod added, with an index finger pointed at himself. The others knew he usually saw the good in people. And even after what they have been through, he still readily gave most people, watcher or immortal, the benefit of the doubt. The radio's crackling broke the silence as a watcher's voice came on, telling everyone he had spotted someone matching the images and description of their celebrity target. Several other voices came on, one after the other, confirming they had eyes on him.

"Sophie, he's heading your way. Careful." The man told the woman, to who the French accent belonged to and who acknowledged it. A worried whine came from down in front of her and she gave a quick scratch to her dog's ear, checking the collar, her concealed firearm and the radio she reattached to her belt. Macleod and the rest could see the woman, on a small clearing, from where they were parked.

"You feel anything?" Joe asked him.

"Not yet." Macleod gave a single shake of his head and the same male voice on the radio came on, again.

"Alright. He's definitely heading towards the spot. Still can't be sure it's him."

"Well, I guess Dawson and his _friends_ can tell us, can't they." The man named Richard, said.

"Friends?" A voice repeated, probably finding the use of the plural surprising.

"Indeed. I see one Richard Ryan and one Amanda Darieux." Another voice confirmed and silence followed. Joe could imagine hats, radios, thermoses and all manner of items being slammed to the ground. Some of his colleagues screaming treason, conspiracy and outrage. Others quietly boiling as their faces grew red, while they tried to refrain from voicing their considerable reservations about the company he was in.

"I guess we're not the only ones who's gotta worry about our heads." Richie broke the awkward silence.

Joe showed his appreciation for Richie's humor by not moving a muscle on his face and wearily staring forward. He glanced at Macleod who looked at him somewhat sympathetically, before his face turned grim and in case there was any doubt in Joe's mind about the reason for it, Richie started panicking. "Woah, woah, woah!" Joe turned to see Amanda and Methos looking like they had a bad feeling and knew they were sensing the very immortal they were talking about. "Okay! There's _no way_ this guy didn't cut off any heads!" Richie brought up two index-fingers as he firmly told the others.

"Ah-jaj-jaj..." Methos whispered, as the alarm-bells went off in all of them.

"Not good." Amanda muttered.

"That bad, huh?" Joe asked, looking at Macleod. "You know, we're still not sure if an immortal can actually tell another one's strength when they feel them."

"This is different." Macleod stated.

"Yeah. It's definitely not the same buzz I feel around you guys. Or, anyone else I met." Richie agreed.

" _Buzz?_ " Methos repeated with a slight laugh. "Fun word." he mused and the radio made a sound.

"Dawson. It's him." Joe spoke into the radio, letting the others know they had the right immortal.

"Acknowledged."

"Sophie, he's nearly at your position."

"Radio silence! Now!" They hushed each other and the woman adjusted a device strapped onto her belt, under her coat.

Joe took out a pair of binoculars and peered through it at the figure clad in a thin, knee-length, black coat. He had slightly wavy, auburn hair, barely reaching below his chin. It was swept backwards, in the middle, but not on the sides, where it touched his collars that were pulled up, instead of being kept down. The rest of his wardrobe, a black turtleneck sweater, under his coat and black jeans, showed a wiry frame. As he approached the woman named Sophie, the expression on his youthful face briefly turned to what appeared to be curiosity, if not recognition, when he got close. She tried her best to act casual, pretending the man was a mere stranger, completely turning his way with a guarded look, when he bent down to pet her dog. She knew the almost serene smile he had hid a thousand battles and his hands, eliciting a happy whine from her canine, had ended several times as many lives.

"Quite a day, isn't it? Even the usual warmth seems to be running from the place." he spoke with an American accent and they all heard. It was then the others realized the woman enabled a constant one-way channel, without the need to press and hold the switch on a walkie-talkie. It allowed everyone to hear what was being said between the two of them.

"Y-yes. It is very unusual." Sophie answered and was slightly thrown by the way his smile changed and he gave a small sound of amusement.

"Hm. Coincidence is a hell of a thing." he commented.

"Excuse me?" She certainly did not yet understand what he meant.

"Many would use the word _miracle_. Are you interested in _astronomy_ , by any chance?"

"What?" She had issues following his train of thought, as did the others, who were listening on with strange faces.

"Even men of science consider just our mere existence to be a miracle. Countless stars perished and from their dust we walk this Earth. And in the grand scheme of things, it is but a blink of an eye. And yet, many still have the audacity to believe we're the center of the universe. And they once called it heresy when someone dared to suggest it doesn't revolve around us. I don't believe in miracles. Certainly not by any divine power. And still, I cannot fathom just how small the chance was that we'd meet."

"That's a _really_ long come-on line." Amanda commented, in a bored voice.

"Kinda cheesy. But, it's still good." Richie said.

"Oh, yes. It is...certainly incredible." Sophie brushed a strand of her hair aside, under the impression the man was either flirting or was merely verbose. His smile, from before, returned.

"You have your great-grandmother's smile." he told her and Sophie froze. She could not help the alarm showing on her face and was but a fraction of a second too slow in trying and hide it. The others all looked at each other. "Ah, almost." Crescence pointed a finger at her. "A little slow, there. Couldn't quite hide your surprise fast enough. It's alright. Not everyone gets a complement like that, I imagine."

"I...I don't understand what you mean." She attempted to keep up the act.

"I suppose you can't exactly share the same profound sense of amazement. Your great-grandparents were good friends of mine and now here I stand, having ran into a person from _their_ lineage, by sheer accident. And after the branches on that tree forked so many ways. Genetics is also a hell of thing. In the blink of an eye you live your existence, here you are, the spitting image of a woman I shared stories, jokes and meals with. And we happen to meet." he explained to her, passionately, then continued in a less enthusiastic manner. "Well, if I want to diminish the miracle-factor of the situation, it's not that big of a stretch, actually. You were bound to continue in your family's line of work and given the occasion, it's no surprise you're here. The Watchers must be really nervous." He was met with a look of surprise and what he considered unwarranted fear. "Oh, don't look so surprised. It's simply impossible that no one besides me had come into contact with your organization. I've known about it since my friend Tacitus." he added and Macleod gave Joe his own surprised look at the famous name.

"Who's that?" Richie asked.

"He was a senateh' and historian of the Roman Empiyah'. Famous foh' not embellishing his writings and for their detail." Methos quickly explained.

"So...he was a Watcher, too." Richie understood somewhat better the significance of that friendship.

"Makes you wonder." Amanda said, imagining what other historical figures could have also been privy to the existence of immortals.

"As I was saying..." They heard the man through the radio. "…if anything can be called a miracle, it is the chance that we immortals have the potential to witness history, first-hand and whatever the future brings. And what do we do with it? We race to cut one another's head off." he said, derisively. "And to what end? Some grand prize? Ultimate knowledge and power to rule over whatever becomes of this planet, after the wars we'd wage. It hardly seems worth it. To waste those lives. Granted, some of them deserve an untimely end."

"But…you never..." she started, but stopped. Unsure about sharing any of the information they had on him.

"Yes?" he prompted her.

"As far as we know, you never took the head of another immortal." she told him and he sighed.

"One of these days, I'll be forced to. Some of those I let live have surely grown more petulant. And if they're still around, they'll want to settle the score. Pride won't let their defeat stand. Can't even decide which one I find more nauseating. Pride or honor. Only the foolish take either one or both to their grave."

"So, all is fair?" she asked, not fond of the principle.

"Well, at least, as far as how one fights is considered. There _are_ unwritten rules, of course, as you know. And after seeing first-hand what _might've_ been the breaking of the holy-ground rule, I won't risk ignoring that particular one."

"You're...not certain it was broken?"

"I suppose the ensuing volcanic eruption could've been a coincidence." he mused, somewhat flippantly, despite the seriousness of it.

"You're talking about Pompeii." She was not even guessing.

"Indeed. I told those idiots to take their quarrel elsewhere. You'd think that a pair of immortals, both at least a century old, would've had more sense. Still, can't say for certain whether they caused the disaster or Mother Nature."

"What did you do?"

"I helped as many as I could reach the ships. I could do nothing more but watch as the rest became…entombed in ash." he recalled, remorsefully.

"Did you ever go back?"

"No. But, I may have put some ideas into the heads of archeologists, over coffee and tea, about the way the inhabitants may have lived their lives. Their imagination filled in some of the blanks and they know as much as they've published. Even if I _had_ told them details they would've easily waved it off as speculation and very few would've found it...suspicious." He paused, for a moment, before finishing the sentence, as he spotted a pair of binoculars looking his way, from a black sedan. He slowly turned to face towards it.

"Uh-oh..." Richie exclaimed.

"One of yours?" he turned to her. "Let's go say hello!" He cheerily told Sophie, who started following him, still appearing somewhat baffled and uncomfortable. As they neared the car, Joe exchanged a nervous glance with Macleod, sharing the same look Sophie had, behind Crescense, as the latter slowed his steps to stop in front of Joe's window and leaned down. Joe sighed at rolled the window down.

"Hello!" Crescense greeted him and was surprised to immediately hear his own voice, coming from inside the car, through the radio in the grey-haired man's hand. His eyes darted from it to Joe and he turned to Sophie with an odd stare. He looked her up and down. Figuring her own device was concealed by her clothing, he turned back to Joe. "Well, at least I don't have to repeat myself. Or introduce myself. But it's only civil. Crescense Lazarro, for the time being." he extended a hand and Joe went along with it.

"Joe." With a weak nod, he only shared his first name and it was understandable why he was reluctant about revealing anything more.

"Joe." Crescense repeated, pulling back his own hand and he noticed the cane propped against the seat, next to him. "Hmm. A permanent leg injury. I'll take a guess and say you're the Watcher. Unless you're one of us and you were a pirate, once. We might have missed each other out on the sea."

"I am the Watcher." Joe said. "And the mortal, but you can tell that." he added, knowing the man was only playing.

"It's still strange. To feel this many immortals, all at once. Frankly, I'm surprised all our heads aren't spinning." Crescense remarked, looking past Joe and at a still stiff Macleod.

"Duncan Macleod. Clan Macleod." came his usual introduction, after a subtle arching of the brow from Crescence, prompted him.

"Clan Macleod? Macleod?" Crescense thought out loud, trying to guess his roots. "Scottish?"

"It is." Macleod nodded.

"Ah, the magnificent Highlands! No wonder they've inspired so much folklore. You'll think me a coward, but I never dared to venture far north. Too many long-swords, hatchets and battle-axes, for my taste."

"It's not like anyone had less chance of losing a head anywhere else." Macleod reasoned.

"Well, the western world had a penchant for guillotines and hangings, but there...they didn't even make a spectacle out of beheading someone. From what I've heard, it was just a Tuesday. Or was that the Norse." He scrounged up his face.

"Before my time. But, we had our fair share." Macleod relaxed.

"I imagine many of us had." Crescense replied, somberly, and turned to look at the others, in the back. He slightly squinted at Amanda, as he recognized her.

"You look familiar, Miss..." he started to say to her.

"Amanda. I bet you say that to all women." Amanda replied, playfully.

"Well, when they're immortal, there's a good chance I'm right." He did not seem to be flirting or even just pretending to be. "You remind me of 20's clubs in America, for some reason."

"I did sing in a few of them." Amanda smiled, proudly.

"Then, I surely saw at least one performance." he concluded.

"You're back is going to get tired." Amanda told him.

"Eventually." Crescense turned to Richie, inspecting him. "Hm. Far too young to be a Watcher and...not exactly the best age to be an immortal, either."

"Look who's talking." Richie replied, trying to be smooth, but a bit of nervousness was still in him.

"Touché. It's not without advantages. Unless...women also consider the person too young." Richie looked crestfallen as he turned to a snickering Amanda and saw Macleod look away with a smile as he caught his eyes in the mirror. Crescense turned to the last member of the group and his expression turned more serious. Methos gave him an almost apologetic smile.

"You..." Crescense recognized him.

"You two met?" Richie looked between them.

"Not in person." Crescense muttered. "I only heard of his exploits and saw his face, once, from the crowd. However, the name I heard, did not match the face I saw." Crescense looked pointedly at Methos. His tone was almost accusatory.

"Whaddoyou mean?" Richie was as puzzled as the rest, except for Methos.

"I...may have forgot to mention I borrowed the name _Remus._ " he said and everyone raised a brow. "Only for a while." He quickly held up his hands to Cresence. "No harm was done. To his name or yours, I'm sure you know." Methos defended the identity theft. Crescense looked past him, to the side, at nothing in particular, as he gave it a moment's thought.

"Who started that wolf-nonsense, is what I'd like to know." he said, half-jokingly.

"Sorry! Can't help you, the'e, I'm afraid. I was wondering the same, actually." Methos replied, turning more relaxed.

"So...you're planning on sitting in a car, all day?" Crescense was inviting them outside.

"Oh, no!" Amanda exclaimed and eagerly got out to finally stretch her legs.

"Not even if I was held at gunpoint." Methos commented as he got out and took a deep breath.

"Wouldn't really be a huge threat." Richie said as he followed suit.

"Two public deaths in three years would be a record." Macleod told him, teasingly, as he shut the door. But, he was also reminding him it was dangerous for them to be killed by any mortal, as it immediately involved the risk of being seen by them, again, even if they left to start a new life, with a new name and background, elsewhere.

"A record? Seriously?" Richie looked at Joe and Methos and the latter could only shrug, as neither of them could readily recall the highest rate at which an immortal died and had to start over.

"I can't even decide if it had become easier to fake credentials or not. Papers and computer records are easy enough to temper with, but information gets around faster and then there are the cameras, surveillance. More difficult to lose a tail, even if the streets are full." Crescense commented.

"Well, you've certainly managed, for over fifty years." Methos commented. "Adam Pierson, by the way." he extended a hand and Crescense saw the Watcher insignia.

"For the moment." Crescense whispered as he shook it.

"For the moment." Methos repeated and Crescense turned to Richie without lowering his hand to have a shake.

"Richie...Ryan." Richie paused and decided to give his last name, as well. Crescense regarded Joe, with a look of pity and respect, at the same time.

"Vietnam?" he guessed.

"Yeah." Joe nodded.

"That Bald Eagle sure likes to swoop in to save the day...often into a thorny bush." Crescense said, critically. "Want to bet they'll still be sending troops everywhere, in twenty years?"

"I always _try_ to be optimistic." Methos started. "But, it wouldn't be the least bit surprising."

"A bunch of old _boys_ sending the young in, to play with their toys in the sand. Or forest. Just because they can't get it..." Amanda started to make a not-so-subtle reference to the figurative and possibly literal impotence of the people leading the armed forces, but Joe's painful stare stopped her.

"Oh, I'm sure it's almost as good as certain pills for them." Crescense finished it for her and they all remembered the other woman, who was with them. She shifted, uncomfortably and looked at Joe, silently asking him if such conversations were common with his immortal friends and his face said it all. She stood far enough from them that she did not hear what was said between the colleague she knew as Adam Pierson and their celebrity immortal. Amanda stepped up to her, friendlily and introduced herself.

"Hi! Amanda." She extended a hand.

"S-Sophie." came the nervous reply and shake.

"You poor thing. As if your day wasn't nerve-wrecking enough." she told her, sympathetically.

"Yes. I...never thought dis would actually happen." she glanced around, nervously.

"You'll get used to it." Joe assured her.

"You say you never thought it would really happen. But, you must've imagined what it'd be like. Meeting one of us." Amanda made small-talk, slightly teasing her.

"I did. But...I certainly never imagined meeting a handful." She said, overwhelmed.

"We're not that scary." Richie smiled, charmingly.

" _You're_ not." Amanda corrected him and Richie hung his head with a groan. "And Duncan only _looks_ intimidating." she added and Macleod smiled. "Most of the time, he's like a confused puppy."

"Only because you have a knack for leaving out details when you need me to help you out of a mess." Macleod replied.

"Never heard a knight in shining armor complain." Amanda retorted, smugly. Macleod looked away with a tired and arguably defeated expression, having only the hint of a smile.

"Are we gonna go up to the top or...?" Richie trailed off, uncertain if he even wanted to go, himself.

"Yeah. Why not?" Macleod was neither for nor against the idea. Joe groaned not in favor of it. Amanda gently pulled Sophie along, mischievously blowing her tongue at Richie, who shook his head with an accepting smile as he walked behind them with Methos. Crescense lead the group, with Macleod and Joe, all keeping to the latter's pace. The familiar buzz they all felt at another immortal's presence came in waves, as they neared the bottom of the hill, making them aware of more and more of their kind, who sized up every member of their group, giving the woman walking the dog and the graying man with a cane odd looks. Joe kept a stern face, not really caring. Sophie stepped closer to Amanda, glancing at her awkwardly, then kept her gaze down, feeling predatory eyes on herself the entire time. Macleod was looking at Joe and the way the latter seemed to put more force behind his steps, holding his head high and he noticed the look he was giving him.

"What?" he asked him, irately.

"You just look like…" Macleod started.

"Like what?"

"Like you're trying to look though." Macleod said.

"Yeah? Well, I don't wanna give them the impression I'm easy game." Joe stated.

"You're not even _game_!" Methos raised his voice from the back.

"Howda I supposed to know some punk won't get excited with his new sword and takes a swing at me." Joe absentmindedly felt for the pistol on his belt, concealed by his coat.

"It's holy ground! No one's going to attack you. And if they do, the worst that could happen is you throw your back out." Methos told him, encouragingly.

"Thanks!" Joe shook his head.

"If anything they'll single either me or Mr. Ryan out." Crescense turned and nodded to Richie. They all knew the latter picked up the skills to handle himself and his youth was deceptive and Crescense evidently had to possess considerable skill and was also unassuming in his appearance.

"Great." Richie muttered.

They tried not to let their eyes linger for too long, looking for familiar faces in the groups of immortals and those who were by themselves, as they ascended the hill. The buzz faded, only to come back, several times. The sensation was nearly constant, even when they reached the top, where Crescense spotted a face from his past he had only seen for but a few second, back then. A stocky man, with a dark round-beard and short hair, seemingly in his late-forties, who was carrying on a conversation, before he, too, paused to look at the new arrivals, locking eyes with the young man at the front. In Crescense's memory, he was surrounded by the dark, blue ocean stretching beyond the horizon. Small waves were gently rocking a vessel, the wheel of which he took hold of, from his captain, who walked to the side of the deck as a ship approached from the opposite direction and closely passed theirs. He felt an immortal aboard and his own searching gaze found that of the ship's captain's, who nodded with the tip of his hat. The gesture was directed more at him, the first-mate, than his captain and Crescense nodded in return, both then and in the present.

"Captain." He addressed him by his former title. Likely one of many.

"First-mate." The British man smiled and had a slight hoarseness to his voice. He also nodded to the others. "Always a pleasure to see a face, again." He turned back to Crescense.

"Indeed it is. Even more of a pleasure to not be flying flags." Crescense replied.

"Oh!" The man shuddered. "Never! Others have grown so _vehemently_ fonder of it, I couldn't possibly have become more disgusted by it, with every passing century. Patriotism nauseates me, now."

"Living for several centuries surely has something to do with our disillusion." Crescense posited. "Even a mortal can more easily see the bigger picture, these days. They don't need an entire life-time or more to learn the Earth's not flat or that borders matter little."

"And there's never a moment when a war isn't being waged on them, somewhere." came the piece of realism from the man.

"But, we still serve, now and then." Crescense pointed out they still took sides in some wars.

"When we deem it paramount one side should not be victorious, under any circumstance, yes." The man said.

"I shudder when I picture the hammer and sickle or a swastika covering Europe and the US, in an atlas. Maybe conflict would be non-existent, but at what price." His was not even a question.

"Under oppression there is but the illusion of peace." The man said it out loud.

"It doesn't even have to be an iron fist wrapped around the throat, gently squeezing an artery." Crescense added. "Lived under both kinds."

"So have I." The man sighed.

"How would _we_ rule, though?'" Crescense asked the question that had Watchers worried.

"I can only speak for myself." The man said, earnestly.

"Well, I've led men before, but never anything more than the crew of a single vessel." Crescense mentioned, with a smile.

"Ah! So you did make it past the position of first-mate, after all." The man brightened.

"Oh, I had my own ship for a while. Everyone said a looked too young to be a captain." Crescense frowned. In a tone that suggested he could hardly believe it, himself, he continued. "Turned out all I needed was to grow a beard to look the part."

"Scruff was the measure of experience, as many seemed to believe." The man chuckled.

"For mortals, maybe." Crescense replied.

"How old are _you_?" The young man, who was standing with the former captain eagerly asked. Crescense looked him up and down.

"Protégé?" he asked the man, who nodded and who was already laughing on the inside, at the face his young charge will surely have, when he hears how someone who looks about the same age as him had already lived at least ten of his life-time. "How old are _you_?" Crescense asked him, in return.

"Twenty-seven." came the answer, with much less enthusiasm.

"So am I." Crescense nodded with the hint of smugness and the young immortal looked confused. "With two zeros. Give or take a few years." Crescense added and the older man froze. His face fell sooner than his student's. He was not expecting that the former first-mate was much older than even himself. His student stared at Crescense with his mouth agape. "I don't usually brag about it. But it might give them something to strive for." Crescense told the man, who nodded and let out a nervous laugh.

"Hah! Well...I might as well be _his_ age, compared to _you_. Good god!" he exclaimed, looking Crescense up and down, who shrugged.

"Captain." Crescense bowed and turned with a step, after getting a farewell bow in return. He rejoined the group with an apology for the derail. "Sorry! Couldn't resist a quick existential debate."

"Happens to everyone." Methos glanced at Macleod.

"It usually doesn't end with a _sword fight_." Macleod told him, meaningfully. Referring to how Methos tried to provoke him, on more than one occasion, only _sometimes_ to make a point.

"You were a pirate?" Richie asked.

"Not exactly. I did the same things. Difference was, I did it _to_ pirates and other undesirables. On land and on sea." Crescense clarified.

"A bounty-hunter." Amanda stated.

"And privateer. Explorer. Scout. Whatever task I felt taking on that facilitated safer travel and kept the pirate threat low." he elaborated.

"Crescense Lazarro!" He heard someone shout and recognized the face the voice belonged to. A middle-aged man, with short, greasy hair and a strong five o'clock shadow accentuating his round face. Narrow, dull-brown eyes that were vivified by the sight of him. Crescense involuntary rolled his eyes, to everyone's surprise. "What do you say we go and see the exhibits?" he turned in the opposite direction the voice came from and started walking, not taking more than a few steps, before the man called after him. "Shane Colt!" He continued. Slower. And the man walked towards him. "Kyrill Volkov!" Another name, but Crescense walked on. Slower, still. "Casey Luke!" An on.

 _"Gavin Chase!"_ This time, there was clear hatred in the man's voice as he nearly spat the name, but Crescense did not stop and it seemed to fuel rage inside the man. The others looked on with either amusement or revulsion, as the grin on the man's face grew almost sadistic as it widened and he said another name, feeling certain it would make Crescense stop.

 _"Romulus!"_ And it did. First, he turned his head, then the rest of himself, to face him, as some mouths hung open, while others appeared either impressed or intimidated at the name.

"Well..." he started "I haven't used that name since my first death." He sounded like he was congratulating him for finding out and listing some of his previous identities. "I'd ask where you know those names from, but I already have a good idea who might've had that information..." his tone started turning colder, then became threatening "And for _your_ sake they'd better be alive."

"He could only get those from a Watcher." Joe said, his own expression turning dark and the others looked at him, with some worry.

"So, who's prince charming, here?" Amanda asked, with disdain. Crescense's obvious dislike for the man quickly became their own.

"Douglas Mackenzie." Now, _he_ was a pirate. And I can already see his mentality had not changed for the better, as I keep hoping with people like him." Crescense sighed, internally.

"You mean the ones you fought and let live?" Macleod was starting to understand.

"You keep hoping some of them will change." Methos said, with a single shake of his head, even though his own past was proof some could.

"Some of them do." Macleod told him, meaningfully.

" _Some_ , Macleod. And for every one that does, either on their own or by the quickening of another, there is more, who don't. How many good ones need to lose their head, just so the rest can become better? Not all of them will be like Darius." Methos replied. His usual and self-professed optimism faded.

"I know." Macleod was not idealistic, either, when it came to that subject.

"We're only human." Crescense stated and took a few steps towards the man with the obvious grudge. "That said, most would say vengeance is petty. I disagree. And if you want a second chance at my head, there is really little I can do to dissuade you."

"Oh, I'm sooo sorry! I missed all that. But, I think I heard you say something about your head." the former pirate drew his sword.

"A cutlass? Back to your roots, I see." Crescense commented on his weapon and took out his own sword. "I felt nostalgic, as well, before coming here." he added.

"A gladius. Huh." Methos raised a brow, feeling some nostalgia, also. "Been a while since I held one of those." he commented and quickly realized his slip, when he saw Sophie look at him strangely. He cleared his throat as Amanda chuckled.

"Looks kind of new." Richie said, giving it an odd look. "A remake?"

"Has to be." Macleod answered.

"Otherwise, it would've rusted a hundred-times over, by now." Methos added, while they watched as Mackenzie led Crescense close to the center. The latter's expression was the complete opposite of the excitement on the other man's face, who looked as if he had just opened a treasure chest.

"Before we commence..." Crescense started. "The person whose data led you to me. Do they live?"

"Of course! You think I'm daft? They're golden geese! And if you still have your head after this, I'm goin'na need them to pick up the trail, again."

"Well, haven't you become quite resourceful." Crescense commented and received a mad laugh, in return as Mackenzie swung at him, without warning. He parried and kept driving the attacks to the side, twirling the gladius to hold it traditionally, as well as, in a reverse-grip, with the blade running parallel to his forearm, making the cutlass harmlessly slide off. He started shoving it off, with more force, as the attacks became heavier the more frustrated his opponent grew with the fight.

"Impressive." Methos commented. "Certainly never saw the Romans use it like that." he added, no longer caring if one more Watcher knew about his secret. He did not even need to look Sophie's way to see her staring at him with a confused glare. She was likely disappointed with herself and with the entire organization, to an extent, that an immortal could infiltrate them so easily.

If it had not been for the redness in one of the men's faces and his rather obvious desire to make the other one part with his head, their fight could have been mistaken for a spar, with the amount of effort Crescense seemed to put into it. He did not appear to have broken so much as a sweat, unlike his adversary, who was clearly reaching the limits of his stamina, but who has been unrelenting, so far. He was steadily pushing Crescense towards the hill's edge, which was a steep slope.

"Runnin' outta ground!" Mackenzie exclaimed, thinking he had the upper-hand.

"Keep this up and you'll run out of air, before I run out of ground." Crescense stated.

"Shut up!" Mackenzie yelled and reached into his coat. He immediately slashed with the dagger he took out, which Crescense narrowly avoided. Parrying both a longer and a shorter blade proved more difficult. Mackenzie made a vertical slash that Crescense could only parry by stepping to MacKenzie's right, who turned counter clockwise, following the momentum of his last attack, to deliver his dagger into Crescense's side, expecting him to practically run right into it. But, as he was turning, so was Crescense. They were facing the same way and as the dagger was coming from his right, Crescense pushed his coat back with his left-hand, while he held up his sword with his right, blocking the attack. His blade slid down to the guard of Mackenzie dagger, who barely had time to curse through gritted teeth. His eyes jumped to the left and he saw another gladius, identical to the one that he was still locked with, being flipped into a reverse grip in Crescense's left hand, before it came straight for him. The remainder of his profanity-laced scream he coughed up in the form blood, as his lung was pierced. Crescense stood with his back to him, and pulled his sword out. Mackenzie fell knee-first onto the ground, barely having the strength to stab his cutlass into it, as support. His dagger fell from his weakened grip and he held onto his sword with both hands, watching the blood from his chest wet the ground. He lifted his head to snarl at Crescense through bloodied teeth.

"YOU...can't...ungh...kill me. We're...hrrgg...on holy...ground!" he barely managed to say.

"Allow me to change that!" Crescense exhaled from the effort he was forced to put in, in the last few minutes. He kicked him in the side and sent him tumbling down. Fortunately for the beaten man, it was steep enough that he fell, almost uninterrupted, all the way, hitting the initially rocky surface only a few times. Crescense glanced back at the others and walked off the edge. He stabbed one sword into the side and started slowly sliding down, descending the hill, before his opponent could revive. He reached the bottom as the dust and some dirt came falling after him. A line of immortals formed on the top, to witness the victor dragging the still unconscious loser by his leg, through the foliage. Mackenzie's eyes snapped open and he lifted his head that was hitting small obstacles to take note of his present predicament.

"Hrrgh! Bastard! Get your hands off me!" he demanded and Crescense did not even look at him.

"Be quiet!" he muttered. "Having to dispose of you, in broad daylight, is awkward enough."

"Yeah!? How about this!?" Mackenzie reached to the side of his belt and Crescense heard the familiar sound of hammer clicking into place. He turned to see an antique, but apparently still very much functional, flintlock pistol pointed at him. Time slowed as he halted and his eyes were focused on Mackenzie's finger on the trigger. He saw it pull and with the same motion he impaled him, earlier, he turned and dodged, while he made a horizontal slash. His shot missed and instead of feeling his lungs being stabbed through, again, Mackenzie felt a slightly different sensation, as his right-hand was severed and his pistol fell, along with it, to the ground. He howled in pain and was promptly silenced by Crescense wordlessly running his sword through his larynx, with the straightest face any person could make in the moment of killing another. His dying words were drowned out, again. The fire in his bulging eyes faded as they glazed over. The second time he came to, he heard the agitated squawking of seagulls and waves. He saw Crescense, throwing a rope away and followed it with his gaze as it landed in a boat, next to them.

"W-where the…? What're you...?" he tried to ask turning his head back towards Crescense, only to very briefly see the sole of his boot, coming very near his face, very fast, before he lost consciousness, again, feeling a jolt of pain in what was his whole face.

"What's he doing?" Richie wondered out loud, as they were back in their car, having gone after Crescense, after the latter stuff slung Mackenzie over his shoulder, mounted what was presumably his motorcycle and took off, towards the seaport. "He's gonna dump him in the water and make him swim or...?"

"I don't know." Macleod muttered and added "I doubt he'll take his head, though."

"Unlikely, at this point." Methos said. "Besides, he wouldn't risk absorbing a quickening on open water. All the lightning from it certainly wouldn't hurt, but he'd drown a few times before he could move a limb."

"Yeah. I've been _there_." Macleod stated.

"Ough." Richie let out a sympathetic moan. "Wouldn't wanna find out what 'that' feels like."

"Well, depending on how many times you drown, you don't even feel anything, the first time." Methos assured him, only to ruin it. "After that, you are only conscious for just long enough to feel your lungs are full of water and that you can't breathe, before you die, again and perhaps again." Richie thought about giving Methos a sarcastic thanks, as Joe did, but he just blinked a few times times, looking away, with a cringe.

Crescense looked back at the shrinking shore and heard his nuisance of a passenger stir, again. Mackenzie's head did not even move, but his eyes immediately snapped at Crescense, as he was sitting in the same spot, where he had been, the last three times he come to, at least.

"I'll kill you!" He sat up in rage, only noticing Crescense used the anchoring rope to restrain him, when he fell face-forward in the wooden fishing boat, as he lunged at him. Crescense sighed as he watched him smear the deck with the blood from his broken nose.

"If you only had nine-lives this would be over already. Now the owner of this boat will have to wonder where all the blood came from." Crescense told him, disappointedly.

"Curse you!"

"Quit whining! I did all the work. It's not easy to tie a body up and _you_ are even less cooperative when you're dead. Untying you will be easier, at least." he said and looked around them. "And we're far enough, I suppose. This will do." Crescense told him and raised his sword to put him down, again.

"You sadistic bastard! Rrrgaaaaaaaaaaaghhh!" All Mackenzie could do was scream and thrash around in panic and utter futility, before the blade even came.

"Three syllables. Careful, now!" Crescense said his last words to (), looming over the wailing infant he was reduced to and struck him down, one final time.

Macleod and the others gathered at the small pier and watched the sturdy, motorized boat approach, amidst an earful of cursing, in Greek, from the likely owner of the boat, a retired, short, lean old fellow, whose occupation for the rest of his life was the same as his description, plus fishing. He continued the entire time, stomping up to where the stranger stopped with his boat, fists flailing. They watched as Crescense calmly got out, apologetically held up his hands and started conversing with the man, in fluent Greek. He took his wallet out and put paper bills into the man's hand, the sum of which must have been higher than his pension, judging by the face he was making as he gawked after Crescense, before he started attending to his boat, taking strange glances towards all of them.

"Did you do it?" Macleod asked him.

"I left him to be at the mercy of the creatures of the sea. Their domain isn't holy ground, although the conservationist in me could argue it should be. He may, yet, live." Crescense answered.

"You're quite accustomed to torturing a man, aren't you?" Methos asked, with a small smirk. "How many times did the poor bastard came back, before you fed him to the sharks?"

"I haven't, yet." Crescense merely pointed out, again, that the man could still be alive, when they all looked up and Crescense turned to look at an unnaturally small lightning storm, far off the coast, in the direction he came from, that dissipated as quickly as it formed. "I stand corrected." Crescense stated and turned back to them. "I'd hesitate to say, it was a waste of a Quickening. I'm sure humanity's collective knowledge won't mind 'that' void." he added.

"Right. But, you're not just avoiding a beheading, because you hope they might change." Methos analyzed him. "You're definitely not worried that their knowledge may be lost. What you're trying to avoid, really, is a Dark Quickening." Macleod glanced at Methos, then back at Crescense.

"All true." The latter admitted, with a slight nod. "Besides, I think I'm dark enough." He gave half-a-smile.

"Hoah, you certainly had a moment, there, that would be the envy of a few murderers with a guilty conscience." Methos commented. "No heartbeat of a buried corpse is going to hunt _you_ from under a floorboard."

"What?" Richie looked at him strangely.

"It's from literature." Macleod told him. "Is this why you disappeared?" He turned to Crescense. "Because you knew someone was following you?"

"That. And I felt the world was…changing too fast. Still is. I admit I took a gamble when I came here. And with the lives of mortal. I was much less uncertain that my pursuer would show. It was fortunate he'd grown more resourceful and therefore was thinking ahead, by not taking their lives, right after he picked up my trail." Crescense explained. "So, shall we get back to the party?"

"Sure." Macleod nodded.

"You really want to get back up there?" Amanda asked.

"Well…?" Macleod pondered it, seeing Joe was already opposed to the idea, just from his frown. "What, then?"

"Let's find a nice restaurant!" Amanda shrugged. "A table for seven?" She looked at Sophie and Crescense.

"Oh, I'm sitting at the head of the table!" Crescense declared, childlike, in a higher-pitched voice, raising an index-finger.

"Uh...Okay." Amanda gave an odd smile at his behavior.

"Well, if we go by seniority..." Methos started, but decided not to share with Crescense that he was, in fact, the eldest. "…In appearance!" he quickly added, to change what he meant.

"Oh, funny." Joe muttered, thinking he was poking fun at him for his age.

"Don't start!" Macleod shook his head.

"What? I wasn't." Methos was being sincere, as he was not thinking of Joe, at all.

"See you back at the entrance!" Crescense told them and revved the bike. They got back in the car and travelled the short, straight route back to the Acropolis, stopping farther back than before, as they noticed some commotion at the entrance. A group of immortal men, their attire similar to that of a biker-gang, were cat-calling a pair of young women, both brunette, one years younger than the other, who were in the company of a lean brown-haired man. As their comments became more graphic, entertaining the possibilities of what they could do with two young immortal women, they stepped closer and started surrounding them, clearly unaware of even the concept of personal space. When their antics turned to outright harassment, the young man stepped between them and shoved one of them back. He was grabbed by the arm, from both sides and thrown, not backwards, but into the grip of the one he pushed.

"Oh, our hero!" The man held him by the collar of his coat, as his feet were slumped on the ground, unable to support him. "Maybe we oughta start with you, first, before we 'ave your head and feed it to these lovely lasses!? Eh?" he barked into the young man's face, who flinched from both fear and likely from the other man's breath.

"I fed one man to some sharks, just a few minutes ago..." They turned towards the voice that started talking to them. "Do I really need to waste time with four more? It's about to rain, soon." Crescense looked up at the darkening sky as he casually threatened them. They would not have known what to even make of him and the passivity with which he looked at them, if they had not seen him fight and repeatedly kill a man while dragging his corpse. The presumed leader of the pack released the young man and took a few steps back, giving Crescense a wry smile as he mockingly bowed out. One of his men stepped behind him and started questioning what seemed like a cowardly retreat.

"Rob, it's four against one, mate! What-...?" he whispered.

"Shut it!" He elbowed him in the chest and nodded to the rest to clear out. As they did, Crescense walked up to the trio of very young immortals, along with Macleod and company.

"Thank you!" The young man said to Crescense, as the latter looked at them as if he was comparing them to one another by their appearance.

"You're siblings." he concluded and the man nodded.

"Y-yes. I'm…Nathan. My sisters, Claire and Hannah." He weakly lifted an arm, indicating them. A pair of green and hazel eyes looked at him, cautiously. It was clear the older of the women had to be the same age as her brother, while the second was a few years younger.

"How old are you?" Crescense dreaded to know and the man, who physically looked almost as young as him, glanced at his sisters, before hesitantly answering.

"Twenty-two." Crescense sighed, audibly and shook his head.

"You all turned immortal at the same time, I'm guessing. When was it?" he asked.

"Two months ago. We...we were in a car crash. Our parents and...the other driver…died. And we...just didn't. I mean, we woke up in the car…covered in blood. We ran before the paramedics came. We went home to figure things out, but we had no idea what was going on and what it all meant. When the police came to our house we pretended we weren't with our parents in the car. After the funeral, we tried going back to doing things normally, but..." he shook his head. "Anyway, two weeks later I was on my way home and I felt this...this thing that I feel now. And this guy, he came up to me. Looked like trouble, so I wasn't trusting him or anything. He only said I'm an immortal and that's why I could feel when he was close. He told me the only way I can die is if my head is cut off and...and then, he took me inside an alley and got out a sword and starting swinging at me. I knew he wasn't just trying to scare me, so I ran. I haven't seen him since. And a month ago, we started seeing _this_ , everywhere." He held out an ad for the event. "So, we figured there's gotta be someone who can tell us what's going on... _without_ trying to kill us. When we got here, we all felt that thing again. There was this guy, at the airport. He was immortal. But, he was different. He didn't attack us. He talked to us...until his flight came. He explained some more things, about _The Game_ and gave me an address, to somewhere in Washington D.C. Then, he wished us luck and left" he shrugged, meekly.

"Do you have a sword?" Crescense asked him, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah...sort of." came the uneasy answer.

"Show me!" Crescense evenly told him, after furrowing his brow at the answer and he soon saw why he was nervous. "A machete?" he asked, incredulously and looked past him at his sisters. "And them?"

The older one tucked her coat back to reveal a rapier.

"Claire's been fencing for almost four years, now." Their brother explained, with some pride and confidence in his voice.

"It's a start. Better than no experience. And her?" Crescense looked at their younger sister, who reached into her coat and with her shaking hand, pulled out a cavalier's sword that looked like it could last a few fights.

"We got it from an antiques dealer." The brother said. "We threw together the money for it, after we booked the flight."

"Good thinking. But, a weapon is useless without the experience to handle it and one month is hardly enough time for her to learn and practice what fencing basics your sister probably showed her, to say nothing of her age."

"Hey! _I_ started out like that." Richie said. "Maybe she's a quick learner. I was."

"Was?" Macleod looked at him snidely.

"Am." Richie corrected himself, after rolling his eyes. Crescense considered it and gazed at the storm clouds above, before he came to a decision.

"Then, I'll have to be a fast teacher." Crescense stated. "You three, come with me to the top!" he told the siblings. "This will only take a few minutes." he added.

"What will?" Richie asked.

"Come and see!" Crescense called back to them and nodded to the young immortals, who were still rooted in place, unsure. "We're on holy ground." Crescense assured them they were in no danger and they started after him.

"Eh, for cryin' out loud." Joe muttered, not please with having to climb the hill, again.

"You can stay here." Macleod told him.

"Yeah. Like I'd miss whatever this guy's planning." Joe tried not to sound too curious or excited, as he followed the rest with Macleod.

"Given where we are, I _am_ doing this against my better judgment." Crescense said. "But, hopefully, with the impending storm, mortal eyes won't see this as anything more than strange weather."

"See what? What are you going to do?" The brother asked.

"Nothing that could hurt or kill your sister, if that's even a real concern for you, now." Crescense bluntly told him.

"My sister!?" came the alarm. As soon as they reached the top, Crescense stopped and turned to the youngest of them.

"Come and stand with me in the center." he said and walked towards it, noticing several groups of immortals idly conversing. "Excuse me!" he raised his voice to address all of them. Some were already wary of him, after his bout. "May I ask all of you near the center to stand further back, at a safe distance, please?"

"Safe for what? Another fight?" One person asked.

"More like a ritual." Crescense replied and all granted his request, wondering what he was up to and with such a young immortal, who lagged behind him. He walked back and joined her, in the center, facing her.

"Take your sword with both hands and hold it, blade facing upwards, in front of you." he instructed. Her siblings took a worried step forward when she did so. He took hold of her hands with both of his own.

"Now, close your eyes and empty your thoughts." he told her as he did so himself. "Focus!" he told her and long seconds passed between every sentence he said. "You've suffered loss. You're full of confusion and doubt. Fear. Let go of what was. What you were. And see what you will have to be!" As he talked, the others felt the winds shift and become stronger. "Strength!" he shouted as dust, now, wildly swirled around them. "Wisdom!" Thunder came as he spoke once more. The air was charged. The familiar arcs of electricity began shooting around them, as the clouds began swirling into a darker funnel. A whirlpool in the sky. "Survival!" His grip tightened as he felt her struggle to hold on. The other immortals stood, gazing at them in astonishment, surrounding the scene. Even the undesirables from before were standing in awe and fascination as they massed with the rest. "Witness history!" he opened his eyes, which seemed to glow. "Know what I know!" She was keeping her eyes shut tight. "See what you can become!" They snapped wide open and her hazel eyes were bright as they glowed, while she held on with gritted teeth. The sky lit up as a bolt of lightning struck the sword, parting them. They both staggered back. She fell to her knees and panted, eyes staring at her sword, which was shining with a celestial glow to it and small bolts of electricity were still running across its surface.

Crescense started shouting to all present. "I have seen illusions! Phantoms plaguing minds! Immortals under the thrall of another, like puppets on a string! Ways others have learned to use the power of the quickening!" Methos' eyes flashed and his expression darkened, when he mentioned the controlling of others, as the very immortal whose method it was, he was very much familiar with. And if Crescense lived to mention him, he was either very fortunate or more formidable than he let on. "From parlor tricks to domination! This...!" Crescense motioned towards the girl, who was getting on her trembling feet. "Is our potential!" He moved to steady the girl as her siblings ran up to her, asking if she was alright. She was nodding to them as Crescense came up to them.

"Now, don't think for a second that you just skipped all the training. You have all the knowledge your mind was able to take from mine, but your skills all need to be built from the ground up." Crescense warned her. "Understand?" She nodded and carefully picked her sword up, briefly pulling her hand back, thinking it would shock her. She lifted it and held it more firmly, with more confidence than before.

"That was amazing!" Richie grinned and looked at the others. Macleod was slowly nodding.

"Well, now we know what happened all those times the Watchers couldn't follow his fights." Amanda stated, looking at Joe and Sophie.

"There is no record of anything like this." The latter shook her head in amazement.

"So, all the good ones he met, he shared...their Quickenings. Like a phone-number!" Richie analogized. "But, he wanted nothing to do with the bad ones, like that pirate guy."

"Not as they were, anyway." Methos muttered, still thinking about an old nemesis.

"You okay?" Richie sensed something was bothering him.

"Just the part about controlling immortals through their quickening and illusions..." Methos started.

"I knew someone like that. So did Conner." Macleod commented. He and his kin-man both met individuals who possessed powers of manipulation that were beyond natural. For Conner Macleod it was a mentor. For Duncan, an old friend-turned-foe.

"Yes. So have I." Methos said, darkly. Richie and Macleod decided not to pry. They learned that despite his quirky personality, when Methos turned serious it was either about life or death, or something outright apocalyptic, in an almost biblical-sense.

"Why do I get the feeling it has something to do with your three ex-pals on horse-back." Amanda, on the other hand, wanted to pry just a tad bit.

"Partly." Methos' tone and face suggested it was all he was going to say on the matter and despite her knack for teasing Amanda stopped as they were joined by Crescense and the siblings.

"It'll be difficult to explain the weather, you know. Particularly the lightning." Methos told him.

"A science experiment." Crescense shrugged. "It would help if we actually had one of those lightning-rockets. We could say we lost it, if they'd want proof."

"Right." Macleod lightly laughed.

"Could've been vaporized. Fortunately the sword wasn't. This time. Worth its price." Crescense added as they stared.

"Woah! That can happen?" Richie asked.

"Sometimes." Crescense slightly winced. "It might be the craftsmanship. Might be all the energy released. The Force is strong with her." he joked and looked at the youngest sibling, with her sister's arm around her shoulder.

"Thank you!" she whispered and Crescense nodded.

"Take care of yourselves. And one another. You'll have to. Now, more than ever." he told them.

"Hey, Mac!" Richie nudged Macleod.

"Alright." Macleod got out a copy of the ad and a pen. He wrote on it and handed it to the brother. "Another place you can come to, if you need help."

"A dojo?" he looked at it.

"It's mine." Macleod humbly stated.

"Wow! Thank you!" They all thanked them, once more and headed into the city, away from the craziness, for now.

"See you around!" Crescense told them and they eagerly nodded and waited until they were out of earshot. "They'll need some watching." he said and turned to Joe.

"Already got it." Joe replied. "When he was talkin' about the guy who attacked him, I remembered lookin' at something like that in the new case-files. He was registered after that and then his sisters, later. Home accidents." Joe added, meaning they observed them heal.

"And prying eyes." Amanda shook her head.

"We could…also tell they could feel it when the other one was close. We weren't…" Joe defended himself, trying to make their job sound less like voyeurism, but he knew Amanda was not convinced.

"Still peeping." Richie agreed.

"Nice speech, back the'e, by the way." Methos stepped up to Crescense. "But, what happens to the rule of the'e can be only one, in youh' grand vision of the fu'tcheh?" he mocked his idealism some. They talked as they walked down the hill.

"Idealistic, I know. If anything, I consider it as less of a rule and more like an eventuality. "That is, if all immortals will become power-mad sociopaths or recluses, who wouldn't mind being alone. I'd wager that even ruling the planet for an eternity will eventually become boring and will drive them mad. Or madder. Which, of course, wouldn't be an issue _for them_. Insane people don't know their insane. It's everyone else who'd suffer because of it. Kind of like when you hear some politicians and their _ideas_. And I wouldn't underestimate the ability, especially of a future, technologically more advanced, human race, to deal with the threat of a single or even several immortal lords. If they'd keep getting up, then they'd simply batter them until there'd be nothing left that could resurrect."

"I think those loh'ds would have the sense to try and take oveh' with more _subtlety_ , that wouldn't involve weapons or ah'mies." Methos pointed out that working from behind the scenes was far more insidious, ingenious and much less obvious. Those people would not necessarily have a target on their backs and they would not have people worshipping, fearing or despising them, for they would not see their hand in any of it.

"True." Crescense agreed. "But, suppose they'd rule humanity. Every mortal who'd remain. Take away their subjects and what would they reign over? And empty planet."

"How?" Methos did not see, how an entire planet of oppressed individuals, could become something more than the sum of their miserable parts and vanquish the rulers of the world, particularly if they would be oblivious to their own oppression or unaware of the true forces at work.

"People would realize that without them, their worship and their service, their masters wouldn't truly have anything to rule. Even if only a portion of them would perish, fighting, how many times those in power would need to crush a rebellion, before there wouldn't be enough people to rebel. Would those immortals be truly satisfied with ruling but a mere fraction of the subjects they once had? The rulers of automated machines? And by then only some of them would be made of flesh and bone. What they'd have left would be the servility of circuit-boards and chips. Hardly something they'd want for an eternity. All that, assuming the single surviving immortal or immortals would be dictatorial. If it would be any one of us, those kids, or the immortals whose heads we didn't take, because they've become friends, then they could guide from the shadows or be in the open, presidents of the world. It wouldn't matter, because their intentions would only be noble. And I highly doubt the more-ambitious, less noble of our kind would ever be satisfied with leading from behind. Sipping champagne, on a private jet and reading the paper about a world that wouldn't even be aware of them."

"Sold it, again." Methos said, slapping the side of his own leg and holding up his hand. "Well, I'm still not enti'eh'ly convinced that someone morally _less clean_ wouldn't appreciate not having all eyes on them, while trying to control the world." He held onto his view. "But, I'll admit, I _neveh' have met_ anyone who wasn't obvious about thei'h intentions. With the world, in general. Or…with me." he smirked and he saw Amanda roll her eye. "Except, for her, maybe." he added and she looked at him in surprise, then huffed, pretending she did not know exactly what he was referring to. Her tendency to not only tease people, but to toy with them. Charm them for her own gain, without any supernatural powers of her own, while her own motivations often remained secret.

"Got _that_ right." Macleod smirked and Amanda's glare moved from Methos to him and then at Richie, who was agreeing with them, smiling.

"Hmpf. Better get your wallets out!" she called back to them, as she started towards the boutiques and restaurants with Sophie. Crescense gave the men a sympathetic smile and followed them. Richie and Methos moved to catch up and Macleod looked at Joe, in defeat.

"You lose before you start, with her. Always have." Joe told him smugly and started walking.

"Hh. You can't know that!" Macleod let out a light laugh, calling him on what he was relatively sure was a bluff. But, after getting no response, his smile faded, as he considered the Watchers not only saw their life, but heard it as well, doing both more closely and thoroughly than he thought. "Joe?" Macleod called after him, slightly disturbed. A pair of eyes watched him walk after everyone and a brief entry was written, by slender, female hands, into a journal, over a table. The person, whose wrist bore the mark of the Watchers was merely carrying on Joseph Dawson's duties, as the latter's activities were also subject to scrutiny. The last few entries, on top of a new page, read:

 _12:20 PM - Subjects made contact with three (3) new immortals. Files reportedly on record._

 _12:24 PM - Subjects all moved to the top, again. Unable to follow. Strange storm. Lightning strike. A Quickening on holy ground?_

 _12:30 PM – Confirmation received. No head was taken. Also confirmed, via laser-microphone, Subject Crescense Lazarro made a Star Wars reference. Let it be on record._

 _12:35 PM - Subjects back on the street. All accounted for. The three (3) musketeers left._

 _NOTE: Watcher Adam Pierson carries on suspiciously insightful conversations with all immortal subjects. Investigation into his person recommended. An immortal inside the organization?_

 _12:37 PM - All subjects, including Watchers Joseph Dawson, Adam Pierson and Sophia Soliel, left for the city. Will follow. Cappuccino, first._

 **THE END**

 **Author's note:** As with all my characters their morality and principles are aligned with my own, if not completely, along with some of their personality traits.

Took a few deliberations with the mythology and kept things simple, for my own sake.

The playing-with-toys-in-the-sand line, is from the late and great _George Carlin_.

In case Southerners and Italian men were offended, I came up with the idea on the basis of what a college friend told me, about the nauseating way Italian men hit on her on her vacation, making her roll her eyes at their attempted charming attempts and self-confidence.

Even though I made a reference to the immortal Dilijan, I haven't read the books, where the character's history with Methos, is described. Apparently, he's as ancient, if not more ancient, than Methos himself and he engineered an immortal with a quickening to counter Methos' dark impulses and succeeded, as Methos had a light quickening and became good, after taking that immortal head. This was all so Dilijan could build Methos up, make him happy, let him fall in love, just so he could take it away from him, as part of his revenge, and he did.

The sharing of knowledge I got from that old Highlander Animated Series, which was pretty cool, but short-lived. I changed how the transfer worked, from the original series, where it always shattered the sword of the one giving the knowledge, leaving them defenseless and there the knowledge wasn't shared, but was transferred and was completely absorbed by the boy Macleod.

Sophia Soliel's last name was the easiest to include, as I had to scour the usual pages I go to for names and their meaning, just to come up with all the aliases for my character. In her case, Sophie came easily and 'Soliel' I recently heard in the RWBY web-series, so I put it in. And its meaning is nice, as well. And I slapped myself on the forehead for not seeing the stem 'Sol', from which the meaning should've been obvious to me.


End file.
